


resonance

by Hinterlands



Series: leviathan songs [2]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Coming Out, bi corvo, corvo is a good dad: the sequel, lesbian emily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 03:20:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8605243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinterlands/pseuds/Hinterlands
Summary: (Would that you were here, Jessamine,  Corvo thinks ruefully, one hand curved against the small of Emily’s back, rubbing in slow circles. You were always better at soothing her hurts.)





	

The halls of Dunwall Tower are steeped in silence but for a set of half-heard, harried footsteps, a single silhouette cutting across the angular, waning beams of watery sunlight spilling down the tiled floor. Hand fisted against hip, crinkling faintly with every added modicum of pressure, the crumpled slip of parchment held there damp with fear-sharp sweat.

(Corvo pauses just before the final, arched window lining the hall, raising his hand to unfurl the missive once again. _Please_ , c _ome to my chambers. I need to speak with you._ Unsigned, but he would recognize the slant of that spidery scrawl anywhere, and this, handed from servant to servant until it landed softly, soundlessly, upon Corvo’s desk; and that itself is an oddity. The Empress has never once hesitated to darken his doorway before; this new reticence speaks volumes of some aching _wrongness,_ the edges of each letter jagged, as if kept steady only by some monumental force.)

Corvo cautions himself to slow his pace just before breaching Emily’s rooms, to raise one blocky fist and gingerly rap his knuckles against the wrought wood of the door; a sudden flurry of movement and sound from within, the unmistakable _thud_ of a startled body (alongside a chair, from the heavy intermingling _thock)_ careening earthward. Still, Corvo bids himself to be still until the door, at last, creaks slowly inward, a pale, angular face leering uneasily from the crack between edge and jamb. The set of Emily’s mouth eases, however faintly, for the sight of him, and with a calculatedly nonchalant “Oh, Corvo,” she nudges the door open more fully, and sweeps a gangling arm towards the interior of the chambers. “Um, come in.”

He obliges, sweeping his eyes (however unconsciously) around the space reserved for Emily’s more officious activities. No obvious signs of danger (the chair pushed up beneath the heavy desk is missing an arm, which has likely been kicked beneath the nearby grandfather clock, out of sight), though the back of his left hand prickles faintly, as if in warning, and the impulse to shut his eyes and render himself a greater depth of vision—to peer through the screen of walls and windows for the glow of unseen bodies exuding treacherous warmth, for the edge of a blade, awash in blue—is altogether almost too difficult to tame. Feigning nonchalance, he nods to Emily, who has since moved to shut the door, and has positioned herself by the window, one hand braced just against the sill.

“What is it you wanted to speak to me about?”

Her shoulders tense, marginally, and a slow lapse into silence follows; she has not yet turned to face him, and Corvo risks shattering the brittle equilibrium between them by reaching out to rest a hand against her shoulder. “Emily,” he says, his voice smoke-roughened, but impossibly soft. “What’s the matter?”

She does turn, now, slowly and deliberately, and he takes in the whole of her, as the old training dictates, measuring the expression, gauging intent, gravity playing at the edges of his mouth; the Empress of the Isles—his daughter—freshly seventeen and not yet totally divorced from the rigors of adolescence, all gangling limbs and knobs of elbow, her cheekbones high and her jaw strong and angular, rawness alongside delicacy.

(That jaw, he notes, is surreptitiously tensed, her eyes pouchy and reddened with irritation; most likely she had barely been able to stem the flow of tears before his arrival, and that thought causes his chest to constrict, panic bubbling up from the core of him afresh.)

“I—” she says, and falters, and she half-turns away from him again, one hand sliding over the smooth, golden back of a figurine wrought into the shape of a wolfhound, the tip of one nail gliding along the wrinkles of its snarling muzzle and drawn-back lips, the uneven rows of its jagged teeth. “I only—”

 _Beat,_ and the floodgates burst, and what comes next flows out of her in an unceasing, garbled torrent, her eyes burning, her face suffused with crimson. “I’m _sorry,_ Corvo, I just—I know the rest of my advisors have been squawking on about prospective marriages and likely candidates and I _know_ it’s what would be best for the Isles and they’ve _told_ me, but I—I _can’t_! I can’t, Corvo!”

A moment’s pause, Emily’s breathing soft and syrupy, her eyes fixed on Corvo’s face as his expression fades from startled incredulity to simple bewilderment. “I-” he says, and, finally, softly: “Why?”

She flinches from some imagined hint of hurt in his voice, eyes averted. “I never—I can’t—” She heaves the heaviest of sighs, biting her underlip fiercely. “I can’t imagine myself spending any length of time with a—with a man,” she admits, her voice gone soft and brittle. “I’ve thought on it, and—I’ve tried. Believe me, I’ve tried. Every noble’s son they brought past, every time they’ve kissed my hand and smiled, I felt—nothing. I felt _sick_.” Emily raises her eyes to meet his, and the depth of vulnerability there momentarily snatches the breath from Corvo’s lungs.

“I know,” she continues, her voice cracking, splintered, “I know that it’s important that I marry strategically. I know it’s good for the stability of the Empire, I know it’s what’s expected of me. I’ve tried to be a good Empress.” She inhales sharply, one arm curved against her abdomen, taut with tension. “I’m _sorry_.”

“Oh, Emily,” Corvo says, at last, and she shrinks away as he steps forward, to offer her all he can; a firm embrace, strong arms still loose enough around her to permit escape; but after a moment, the wire snaps, and she sags into him, breathing soft and ragged, face pushed against the ridge of one sure shoulder.

( _Would that you were here, Jessamine,_ Corvo thinks ruefully, one hand curved against the small of Emily’s back, rubbing in slow circles. _You were always better at soothing her hurts.)_

 _“_ You _are_ a good Empress,” he says, at last, and Emily shakes her head slightly, face still pushed against his shoulder. “You are,” he insists. “Breaking convention doesn’t mean you’re doomed to failure, and you’re only in the beginning of your reign yet.” He pauses before continuing, more hesitantly, excruciatingly aware that he’s treading upon spring-rotten ice. “Your mother ruled alone, and we still honor her.”

“She had you,” Emily replies, slightly muffled, and it’s Corvo’s turn to shake his head. “She had me in secret, and I never had much to do with affairs of the state.”

Emily peers up again, more fully, and Corvo tells her, softly and solemnly, his voice raw, “Jessamine would be very proud of you for all you’ve learned, and all you’ve done.”

“And I’ll let you in on a secret,” he says, his tone light, if still low. “I’ve loved men _and_ women for as long as I can remember.” He chuckles as Emily starts, blinking up at him incredulously. “I loved your mother, but she wasn’t the first person my affections fell with, though she is likely to be the last. There were boys back in Serkonos when I was young, and I thought I would spend the rest of my life with one of them.”

Emily blinks, slowly and owlishly, before offering him the slightest of nods, her eyes soft with wonder. “What I mean to say,” Corvo continues as she collects herself, “is that what you feel is not, in _any_ way, wrong, or bad, and anyone who attempts to tell you that it is will have _me_ to deal with. If, when you’re older, you’re content to rule alone, or if you’d rather there were _two_ Empresses—I will be here to protect you, and to support you, as I always have.”

Emily’s cheeks, tinged with scarlet, only redden further. “I never mentioned—”

“I had an inkling,” Corvo cuts in with a smile, squeezing her gently. “I’ve noticed the way you and Alexi look at one another. You could do worse,” he adds, chuckling as Emily raises a feeble hand to punch his shoulder. “I love you, Emily, and you’re going to be—you _are_ —a fine Empress.”

“I love you too, Father,” Emily murmurs, before pushing away from him with a soft huff of breath, brushing both hands down the front of her shirt, plucking off imaginary specks of dust. “…I think…that we could both use some fresh air. The usual place for training, in say…fifteen?”

Corvo only offers her an indulgent smile, eyes soft and glowing with pride, already turning for the door. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for my good friend Jenny [ (lesbianemilykaldwin on tumblr) ](www.lesbianemilykaldwin.tumblr.com) \-- she requested a fic in which Emily comes out to Corvo as a lesbian, while Corvo reciprocates with his own experiences w/ bisexuality; naturally, I wasn't about to pass up the opportunity to write more Good, Supportive Dad Corvo.
> 
> As always, I hope you've enjoyed--and please, keep your eyes peeled! I'll have much more Dishonored fic to offer in a little while, given that DH2 has finally been released and the Emily/Wyman content therein is oh, so good.


End file.
